


Mayday

by Marshmellow Bobcat (MellowBobcat)



Series: This Is Us [4]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Reclaiming Normal Universe, Sort Of, a discord drabble expanded for HBG, the bromance is real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26460910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MellowBobcat/pseuds/Marshmellow%20Bobcat
Summary: Weevil's feeling under the weather, and Logan is the only one around.A Reclaiming Normal Ficlet.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Series: This Is Us [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1482185
Comments: 17
Kudos: 27





	Mayday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [His_Beautiful_Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/His_Beautiful_Girl/gifts).



> For HBG, our biggest cheerleader, support system, and friend. Happy Birthday!
> 
> I originally wrote this as a drabble for the Reclaiming Normal read along on Discord. I've expanded it for HBG's birthday. 
> 
> Please enjoy this corresponding [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4qelMqhwqY0KeUj3UTO3D6?si=rwMCOUbDT3eB15Il9DjuSw) by [VMarsTrek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VMarsTrek/pseuds/VMarsTrek)

"Veronica, come home. I'm wasting away here while you're sightseeing." Logan thinks he's kept the whine from his voice, but there's really no telling when he's this damn bored. Stretching his legs across the living room sofa, he catches his own reflection in the TV.

At least he's not pouting. Much.

"Logan, It's been a day and a half."

"That's like a week."

Veronica, cruel woman that she is, laughs. "I'm sure you'll survive, Snookums. It's been great! Jackie met me at the airport and…"

His mind wanders a little as she talks.

The excitement in her voice warms him, and tugs on his guilt. She needs this break. She held him up when Aaron died, she pushed him and coached him through every college application, and she increased the MI business significantly with that job for the governor. All while dealing with her own shit.

Trying to match her enthusiasm for skyscrapers, hot dogs, and bagels, he settles into the sound of her voice in his ear. Closing his eyes, letting it wash over him. He tries to imagine she's right there next to him, pressed up against his side, but it's like smoke and he can't hold the illusion.

The front door slams him out of his reverie.

"Hold on, sweet cheeks."

He hears her huff as he pulls the phone away from his ear, and smiles a little. She misses him, too.

"Hey, man, did you pick up our laundry from Suds?" Logan calls out to Weevil.

Weevil passes the living room and makes his way up the stairs to his room with little more than a grunt for Logan.

Huh. Thumb lightly running along the side buttons, Logan picks up the phone again. "That was weird."

"What?"

"Calm down, Nancy Drew. It's just Weevil."

But he gets up to poke his head down the hall, and gazes up the stairs.

"Oh. Is he still grumpy about Jackie?"

He spins away from the stairs, back into the living room. "Can you blame him?"

"Ugh! They're not even dating. She doesn't owe him anything! If she wants to—"

"Come off it, Veronica. There's something more there and you know it. The fucking grocer at FoodMart knows it."

"But if she wants to—"

"She chases off any chick that gets within two feet of him, and she can't bother to tell him that she's going to New York for two weeks?

"It's her—"

"He had to find out the day she was leaving?"

"Like I was saying," Veronica bites out. "If Jackie wants to spend time with Alex in his environment that's her call. It doesn't have anything to do with Weevil."

Logan takes a deep breath, lets it out. They've had this argument before. Enough times for him to intellectually understand that the entire situation is treading on a nerve that might always be raw. That it thrusts him right back into a time where nothing he ever did was good enough, where he wasn't good enough to be privy to her life.

So he swallows it all back and says, "Two weeks is a long time, Veronica," with quiet finality and just the slightest tremor in his voice.

She pauses, probably taking a few deep breaths of her own, because her tone is even, colored by empathy and love when she responds, "I know, Baby."

And maybe she does.

Early the next morning, Logan stands in front of Weevil's bedroom door. He's not fretting, exactly—he's not a TV sitcom mom—he's just concerned. He hasn't seen any sign of life from him since yesterday.

Which means his favorite sparring partner is pining. He knocks on Weevil's door and takes the faint "fuck off" as his cue to enter.

Opening the door, he draws up short, surprised to see Weevil sprawled out on the comforter wearing his customary wife beater and loose striped pants. For some reason he'd been picturing him in pajamas with little motorcycles on them.

"Sorry, I don't swing that way, Pretty Boy."

The sarcasm is there, but it lacks punch. Logan drags his eyes away from Weevil's attire and studies his pale, sweaty, drippy face. He looks like shit.

"You look like shit."

Weevil glares back at him. Taking an aspirin bottle off his nightstand, he throws back what looks like way more than two pills. "Go away," he mumbles. No quips, no witty rejoinder—and that more than anything alarms Logan. What is he supposed to do with a sick Weevil? He needs backup.

"Who are you calling?"

"Mrs. Navarro."

"No, you're not." Weevil struggles up on his elbows, then promptly collapses back down on the bed. "She just got a new job, I can't have her here playing nursemaid."

"So you want me to play nursemaid?" He flips the phone closed. "I think I have a sexy nurse costume lying around, but I thought you didn't swing that way."

"Didn't I say fuck off?"

That's better.

"Did you?" Logan clears Mrs. Navarro's number from his screen, he backs out of his contacts and scrolls through his text messages.

Veronica and Jackie are out. Obviously. Mac is at some computer nerd summer program at Hearst. Cassidy is with his mom. Weevil is the problem. Which leaves…

He replies to his last messages with Dick, then does the same with Wallace. Mayday - man down, bring provisions.

The men storm the house, video games, tissues, snacks, and cold medicine in tow. Logan halts the booze at the door and points Dick back outside. Downcast, Dick drags the beer back to his car while Wallace and Logan jog upstairs and start rearranging the furniture.

There is some feeble resistance from Weevil's end but he looks too curious for real protest.

The TV moves from the corner of the room to the foot of the bed. Wallace drags in the two blue bean bag chairs from Alex's room, and Logan runs back downstairs for the TV trays that Veronica insisted were a thing.

By the time he gets back upstairs, Dick has brought up the gaming systems from the living room and Wallace is hooking up an intricate XBox, Nintendo, and PlayStation setup. Weevil's watching eyes look a tad misty and when he catches Logan staring he flushes.

Moving fully into the room, Logan picks up a box of tissues from a pile on the floor and tosses it to Weevil.

"Keep the germs to yourself, man."

"Yeah," Weevil makes a show of blowing his nose, "fucking cold."

"Yeah." Logan agrees and grabs the chips from the floor and places them neatly on the snack tray with a narrow look at Dick.

"Alright." Wallace steps away from the television. He throws Halo at Dick and drops down on a beanbag. "Who's got first?"

In the way of men, since the dawn of time, they chat about everything and nothing. A casual

question to Dick ("you ever going to talk to your mom again?") gets as much attention as a setting up the perfect kill shot, and less than whose running downstairs for more soda.

Eventually they move on to Zelda, then Madden, Call of Duty—and take a moment of appreciation for Tomb Raider.

No one mentions Jackie or how Weevil is off his game.

By the time they switch to Wrestlemania, Wallace is drooling on his bean bag, the makeshift pillow bunched under his head. Dick is across the room, face down on the woven area rug in front of the closet. Logan suspects contraband in the form of a flask.

Logan is beginning to fade as well, but Weevil is still playing halfheartedly, despite his obvious fatigue, so in deference to his friend's delicate condition, Logan uses the opportunity to trounce him.

"Cheap shot, Pretty Boy," Weevil complains over Dick's snore. Logan pile-drives Weevil's avatar and gleefully pins him, ending the round in triumph.

Turing to gloat, Logan recoils when he takes in Weevil's appearance. Pale with the ink on his neck standing out in stark relief. He's still… sweaty and sort of shiny and...

Swiveling away, Logan grips his controller and jiggles his leg as they play.

Maybe he should have called Mrs. Navarro.

The game freezes. Looking down, Logan confirms he didn't press 'X' by mistake.

"Hey, Pret— Logan."

Logan jerks his head to… Eli, who seems to be trying to fade into the comforter.

"Yes, Eli?" Logan answers solemnly.

For a moment Weevil holds his gaze steady, and for a brief second Logan sees his own scars echoed there. The ones you get from growing too fast, learning to rely on yourself, protect yourself.

"Thanks." Weevil's eyes flick away.

Logan focuses on the game, but manages to say "Anytime, man," through the tightness in his throat.

They play until they doze off. At 1a.m. Logan's body reminds him that he has his own bed, thank you very much.

Stretching, he checks Weevil. His color is better, and he seems to be breathing easier. Relieved, Logan switches the TV off and creeps out, but leaves the door ajar in case anyone needs him.

Stripping down to boxers, he crawls into his Veronica-less bed. It's too late to call her so he comforts himself by rolling over and burrowing into her side of the bed.

His eyes close and he lets the light rose sent lingering on her pillow invade his senses. Sometimes, if he lets himself relax, lets the scent wash over him, he dreams about her. Stupid, happy dreams of holding hands, sun warmed skin, and fields of flowers stretched out for miles.

Just before he drifts off he remembers he hasn't checked his phone. Loath to break the spell, but curious, he moves as little as possible, Stretching across the bed, he snags the phone from his nightstand with the tips of his fingers.

It's worth it. He sets the phone aside and closes his eyes again, adding the message to the dream. It floats with the fragrance of flowers across his senses, adding to the picture, until he can see the typed words forming on her lips. "Miss you. Love you."

And with that, he sleeps.


End file.
